


Cricket Hymns

by IohannaFacTotum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IohannaFacTotum/pseuds/IohannaFacTotum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Covering up for an unplanned murder is difficult enough without interruption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cricket Hymns

The consistent cricket calls and cicada screams that hung in the wet, stagnant air seemed to bring the night to life, and as the half-moonlight glistened off of leaves dripping with humidity, Levi supposed that was why he felt like he was being watched.

His heart was still racing, although he wasn’t sure if it was because adrenaline was still as thick in his veins as the moss on the ground, squishing sickeningly under his feet, or because the effort of dragging something nearly twice his size was exhausting him. The black garbage bag stuck to his sweat-drenched skin and made obnoxious, conspicuous crinkling noises as he walked, following what he hoped was a path no one would ever find again but that he knew headed in the direction of a creek that would join the Mississippi only a few miles south.

The spot was ideal, he had told himself, and surely if one would choose to murder someone, summer was the perfect time to do it. The heat would speed decay, insects and animals would be starved for the meaty flesh they could freely pry from bones no longer disposed to fight them.  In the heat of the moment, he had had no more time to plan more than this, and only hoped that the river was a good idea. After all, if it was not, why would it have happened like this in so many movies?

The wet crunch of leaves under his feet and the slick dragging sound following behind him seemed to fade into the other sounds of the night, but every time he stepped on a stick, or his cargo caught a branch, he froze, listened, eyes shifting as he finally carried on. It happened every few feet or so, and it began to drive him as crazy as the mosquitos buzzing at his ears and lighting on his skin. He was growing more and more comfortable with the routine, however, and the fireflies lit his way as he crept, one wet step, one sickly slide at a time to the water, and soon the dirt and clay beneath his feet began to feel more like mud.

The trees parted, though their roots peeked dangerously from the wet soil and several times, Levi caught his foot underneath them. He tripped once and nearly tumbled down the bank into the water but he stood, covered in mud and still old, drying blood, his hands still shaking from adrenaline or exhaustion or fear, and carried on. The bank never quite evened out into an incline and, exhausted, Levi dropped his package amidst the undergrowth of clover and cattails and sat, flinging his legs over the edge. As short as he was, his toes barely dangled above the murky, swirling water, dark with the night’s reflection but for specks of wavering starlight and glimpses of the moon. He sat, shaking still, and tried to catch his breath as he stared out into that dark water.

This was as good a place to fall as any.

He dug the Swiss Army knife from his back pocket, ignoring the mud and filth in favor of haste. The sooner this bastard was gone, the better. He slit the bag open and avoided staring at the face, the dead eyes still half-open and he could feel them on him as he peeled away the plastic.

But amidst the tearing and squeaking of the bag, another sound echoed through the heavy air. Levi froze, as something quite heavy hit the surface of the water and disappeared under the surface.

He whipped his head around, heart beating in his throat and pounding in his ears, knife ready in his hand. Only a few yards down the bank sat another form, feet dangling in the water. His clothes glistened as though covered in plastic, and despite the late hour, under that shining layer was a white shirt, black pants, and a green tie, all clinging to a well-built, though also sweat covered body. A messenger bag, packed with something sat beside him in the mud.

From under perfectly groomed blonde hair and thick eyebrows, bright blue eyes stared at him, unmoving and cold, as if cut from ice. His expression was mildly surprised, and it was apparent Levi had interrupted him, because a half-eaten sandwich was gripped in between gloved fingers.

Levi realized he hadn’t been breathing when he began to feel lightheaded and his torso swayed dangerously, threatening to plummet into the water. And when he finally took a breath, it seemed to break the Thomas Kincade stillness of the moment, and the man on the bank, without once breaking eye contact with Levi, reached into his bag, pulled out a pale hand, severed at the wrist with a surgeon’s precision and already missing fingers, and tossed it into the creek.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man oh god oh man i am going straight to AU hell
> 
> So this is based off of one of those "imagine your OTP" posts on Tumblr and I just kind of spit it out in an hour in between working on a longer Eruri piece. Unbeta'd. I may add to it later. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments and feedback are always, always welcome!


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